


Darkest of Ink

by SenjuMizusaya



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Dubious Morality, F/M, Female Kuroko Tetsuya, Fluff, Friendship, Genderswap, Kirisaki Daiichi High (Freeform), Lack of Morality, Mild Blood, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Psychological Drama, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slight Violence, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, at times - Freeform, doesn't that say enough, manipulation in general guys, this is not as dark as it looks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-28 09:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13268679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenjuMizusaya/pseuds/SenjuMizusaya
Summary: (Fem!Kuroko) Applying for the school's basketball team went with a hitch; it was what followed that dragged her along for a slippery ride that she found herself unable to sever herself from. It was like a waterfall, only a slower, stickier and more silent one that Takase only noticed once she'd started falling. Too bad that she was just too special to be allowed to escape.(In which Kuroko Takase reads through her list of available high schools and chooses differently purely by luck, walking into Kirisaki Daiichi without a second thought.)





	Darkest of Ink

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Kuroko no Basuke!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official: I'm going to hell with all the genderbender fanfics I've started... no regrets, though^^  
> Also, I find the beginning of this chapter faaaaar too similar to the intro of my other KnB fic, but I suppose it's difficult to make something different when you start out with the exact same person, at the exact same time, who has at least 99% of the exact same experiences and memories, in an almost identical scenario of going to a new High School for the first time.... When I tell you it made me hilariously uncomfortable at times, I mean it in an erase-every-second-word-to-reconsider kind of way. Whoops, not sorry^^  
> The main ships are definitely HanaKuro and HaraKuro (coexisting, no real jealousy (major at least), it'll be a bit more messed up but still as far from a threesome as you can get), but if you squint you might decide that there's some mild KirisakidaiichiKuro (that shipname though), and some GoMKuro in the past.  
> Anyway, enjoy! Fem!Kuroko ahead, Deceptive!Hanamiya and GeneralyFalse!KirisakiDaiichi ahead! (And, yes, she plays basket with the boys, it'll all be explained. There'll even be the issues with paperwork to make it more realistic^^)

_**“All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.”** _

_**\- Virginia Wolf, Orlando** _

 

* * *

 

It was the classical orientation scene that basked in the bleak April-sun, upperclassmen attempting to convert students to their clubs as if their life depend on it and the younger pupils hopping around to find their intended hobby. Ashen clouds dusted the blue skies, thick and only a shade away from heavy with threat of rain, but they were evenly scattered like tufts across the azure canvas and thus rendered riskfree when it came to competing with the dancing petals of pink softly raining down, akin to shredded candy cotton. 

When first arriving at the school for the entrance ceremony, which had been three days ago, Kuroko Takase had instantly noticed that the overpriced entrance fees came with more promise than paper-noted prestige, if the reflective windows that almost seemed crystal, the pale stones and gleaming metal void of any greasy fingerprints, the lush and neatly trimmed grass and litter-free corners were anything to go by. Choosing schools with the wide variety of options had been difficult, but in the end two main reasons had sealed the deal. The first would be that Kirisaki Daiichi was a nice reference for any universities and the future in general. The second would be that nobody else from the Generation of Miracles went there. Free of any and all past teammates, an open door for a fresh start. There had been other schools high in her list as well, such as Seirin, Yokohama, Todaiji or Shutoku, but the last had been rejected because of Midorima, two middle ones crossed when checking their basketball teams, and the first opted against when she in the end tossed a coin between Seirin and Kirisaki Daiichi. It had been very expensive; all savings gone in a flash and an unusually good report as a final push to even be considered. She wasn't especially smart, though very far from dumb, but her last months and weeks of suddenly quitting the team left her with the sizzling, silent kind of steam pulsing underneath her skin that needed to be blown off; delving neck-deep into her studies had alleviated the worst of her initial disbelief and aggravated despair, only leaving a shadow of hope to prove the five others wrong as well as a deep disappointment in them for- for- Everything and nothing. 

But now it was different. Now she had a brand new start, a fresh multitude of chances and opportunities, an opened door to a new future. One that, preferably, involved showing the Generation of Miracles that they weren't, in fact, close to either superior, unchallengeable or absolute. (Although Takase had to admit there were moments when it seemed like it- but it was  _untrue_ because there was no such thing as forever-on-top. There couldn't to be.)

Dull eyes, a truce between blank sapphires and empty, dark slate, skimmed across her surroundings. Fellow students subconsciously registered her, to some extent at least, for not all bumped into her as if she had truly never existed, bodies clad in immaculate uniforms hopping around and harshly bumping shoulders with her completely on accident. Takase didn't like the clumsiness it brought to her gait when walking through crowds, but she didn't mind not being seen. It meant she could mind her own business; that, paired with an aptitude for observation, left her with a complete control over her own privacy and social life. Even if it could get a bit irritating at times, as if somebody would spray her insides with something almost sickly. 

The breeze that filtered through the blooming canopies of pink carried soft petals with it, dancing, and ruffled the pale strands of misty blue tufts to obscure her vision like discolored seaweed caught in a current. An absentminded hand drifted up, patting them back into the closest semblance of submission, left-styled bangs brushing against her eyebrows. The uniform was crisp and pressed, as new as her start was, despite normally opting for the secondhand clothes to preserve the bankcards. It was rather classical, neat outfit consisting of a dark-beige skirt and a matching jacket styled with swaths of formality, the blouse a stark white to match the few linings decorating the hems. 

Takase headed into the meaty labyrinth of students, a myriad in a constant flow of change, bags of all kinds forming the greatest threat when it came to bumping into her and knocking the neatly folded map -a paper where squiggly squares had been crudely drawn with scribbled kanji notes within to show which club had what table across the impressive grounds- from her pale hands. Her decision to keep on the borders of the verdant grass -still perfectly maintained, as expected- and the graveled walkway had been a good one; the paths were definitely the most packed in every sense possible, like a box with too many items crammed inside and the lid a hair's breadth away from toppling over. Booths rose up on either side like the stands of a market or fun park, a vicious battle of vocal capacities and the best advertisement, though in the end the bluenette was fairly certain most students at this age already knew what hobby or sports they wished to engage in and spend time doing. And Takase would only settle for basketball. However, there was an electric circuit somewhere inside, a frazzled nerve that cowered and hated the prospect of basketball, but she only sighed slowly, a calming vent. It was time; the rest of her still loved it, had healed and emerged victorious from her inner battle. It was time to move in, to try again, to let go of her fear. Slowly, the icy nail prodding inside melted, leaving only a frigid puddle in its wake. It was certainly cold and the doubt lingered, but it was no longer the shard of ice that had cut into her heart. She supposed that being here, minutes away from signing her name, had been what she had truly needed. 

Now she only needed to find her way.

Around Takase, the song and dance of lively recruitment continued. Poetry was chanted, drawings were flaunted and posters were displayed behind tables, all the while an off-key choir was orchestrated by the hollering sportsmen who jumped and ran as they seemed to preform contemporary dances to reach the tallest, fastest, most muscular and generally most impressive of males and the rare female. She passed the dancers, a literature club who had pounced on the opportunity when a passing girl had corrected a poet's grammar, the said poetry club, a baseball team that almost bulldozed her as they ran around like chicken since they had just achieved a new record when it came to applicants, and took a turn to the left once reaching the end of the walkway, now surrounded by the drizzling sakura petals drifting down like cotton from the patterned skies. It was a blissful moment of enjoying the beautiful scenery, of simply _living_ , before delving into the elbowing masses again. 

As it turned out, the basketball club's table was snugly situated between the volleyball's booth and the vocal tennis players' stand, who seemed to be disagreeing on whether to promote themselves any saying "come join the tennis club, girlfriend secured within days" and "tennis is fun and healthy, makes you less _tenn_ (i)se", the latter decided against because of the horrible pun that didn't fit at all and the former rejected because their perky manager said so, pushing them back to square one when it came to advertising. In front there was the calligraphy club, who were arguing with their painter-neighbors about their "artsiness". The commotion sung straight to her heart in its mundane, slightly disruptive, fleeting moments. However, the bluenette's attention was soon again earned by the basketball club. 

There was a trio of upperclassmen distributing flyers, although it seemed unnecessary since there were not only enough students who had applied (if she could judge form the heap of papers) to put the maximum seven on the bench for the two whole strings in addition to creating at least a whole new team, but the three students stuck with the job seemed to have come to a similar conclusion and were slacking off. The one with the shineless charcoal eyes and mocha hair was blankly listening to the one with copper tresses and a more expressive face, while the last one was chewing a bubblegum with a lazy grin, leaning against a tree next to the two young men behind the plastic table, who were both dark haired. One was fast asleep, messy hair the darkest of mocha jutting out around his ears and sleeping mask, while the other was reading through the application forms with sharp eyes, browns specked murky green and unholy gray narrowed with a critical gleam of judgement. 

The oath to Akashi and the others rung in her mind for a split-second, a reminder seeping hesitation back into her veins like a slow-working poison, thick and horrible as it worked on her now faltering determination. The suffocating moment passed, followed by the crystal realization that there was no other choice to be made and that she _genuinely wanted to play basketball again,_  a blessing that she praised and cherished.

Suddenly, it was dead easy to nimbly snag one of the papers on the pile. It's thicker and more official-feeling to the touch than originally anticipated. She almost smiled, not quite déjà-vu but still finding something reminiscent about it. (To top it off, she once again entered a school with a promise to meet people in official competitions. And this time, she would do it right from the start; not like in Teiko when she had applied for the girls' team simply because Shigehiro had dejectedly settled for that, only to be dragged up to the guys' thanks to a practice match, a threat from Aomine and the Akashi name being flaunted very briefly as a backup.) Her handwriting was ordinary, small and neat, something that disappeared into the masses just as easily as she did. The questions were typical and everyday, almost boring. _Kuroko Takase, sixteen years old_ and thus a _first year_. Previous school? _Teiko_ , and _yes_ , she played as a regular but _no_ , she did not have any handicaps, and finally _yes_ , there was an additional something that needed to be reported. A small, almost unnoticeable smile finally lifted her lips as the paper was carefully placed onto the tray of filled-in papers, tucking back her oldest and most trusted pen into the pocket of her tan jacket just as the slacking distributors dragged themselves back properly, not remorseful in the least a for failing their job.

_Name : Kuroko _

_Age (grade of school) : 16, first year of High School _

_Previous basketball club : Teiko_

_Regular : Yes_

_Physical incapabilities or handicaps : None_

_Other noteworthy facts : _

Takase had struggled with the phrasing on that one. Announcing that she was from Teiko had already been an attractive bait followed by a bribe in the form of being a regular, but saying she was a female yet stubbornly insisting on the make team still felt decidedly _odd_. Perhaps it would be more convincing and less awkward if she stressed that yes, indeed, she had played on the same team as the Generation of Miracles. For another moment she had pondered about it, decided against the even less tactful ' _I'm a girl and was known as the Phantom Player of the Generation of Miracles'_ (which sounded awful), and wrote, despite it still being too stiff and awkward: _Played with the Generation of Miracles in Teiko despite being a girl, and would like to continue playing on the male teams_

It would have to do, she mused as she prepared to leave. 

"Oi, Hanamiya," said a third-year with short hair and strong facial features -a basketball player, just like the others if the familiar muscles were anything to go by- stopping in front of the clustered table. The addressed young man, who had until now been reading with skeptical disinterest, looked up with raised brows. The bluenette, with plenty of time at her disposal, drifted to a halt. 

"Matsumoto Itsuki," he greeted placidly, lips twitching. The other one, Matsumoto, looked very serious as he peered at the younger man in front of him.  

"Didn't think you'd be taking on the title of coach after Sato resigned just before the holidays," he uttered with watchful eyes, cautiously testing, a wary senior observing a junior. It reminded the bluenette that she was once again the youngest, something she'd have to get used to, although she did find something about the interaction downright, unexplainably queer. 

"There is no need to worry, I'm still in the team," replied Hanamiya, his shrewd smile far too wide and toothy. Matsumoto snorted at that, averting his granite gaze. The pine-green armband showed that Hanamiya was also a part of the disciplinary committee, and Takase idly wondered if that was not a lot of pressure. As she walked away, the tall teenager with pale-lavender hair grinned at the young coach, blowing a perfect sphere with his bubblegum.

It burst when the corners of his lips curled too widely. 

* * *

 The following two days, hazy at lightning speed yet slow like slime at the same time, were spent impatiently waiting for the day when all accepted applicants would gather to play a practice match to gauge the range of abilities and skills. By then the gyms were in full gear, regular players from last year reminded of their sport and style as positions and captains were established. It was smooth. It was strict. It had swaths of militaristic order. It was filled with conviction. It was joyous.  

Takase just hadn't seen the basketball team yet, not counting the glimpses caught during orientation. 

But now she would. She couldn't wait, but through her curiosity there was the voice in her head, whispering ugly doubt. No self consciousness, only fear that the basketball she'd play would be gray and dead, tainting even her brightest memories of her games and practices. The thought was chased away like a dog shaking its fur. She'd wait and see, _feel_ , and then judge whether to continue or not. 

The court was a large, spacious room with lacquered floors that shone underneath the beams of the windows lined beneath the roof and the white lights fastened far above. Not counting herself, there were an additional six first years for tryouts, a number significantly lower than the amount of papers that had been handed in. The note of acceptance to even be _considered_ had been given by her homeroom teacher (who had spent an entire day unable to find her) had been reread ten times (admittedly with a giddy smile with a hint of triumph that was quickly stifled, because Teiko-bred thoughts had threatened to run rampant) hidden in a pocket of her neatly folded uniform, which had been carefully changed out from in the only changing room that had been unlicked, not counting the loud one boldly labeled **Basketball** with a male-sign scribbled next to it. 

Then, the regulars entered with Hanamiya in the lead. As it turned out, Hanamiya 'Makoto' was not only coach and part of a committee, but also the captain. "If anybody here thinks I can't get the job of either coach or captain done," he had added with an easy smile and gleaming eyes. "Come to me and we can talk it out, we'll come to an agreement." 

Takase had a feeling one did not want to confront him about bad leadership. She wasn't the only one. The frost-haired girl supposed that since he held so many important posts at least the teacher considered him trustworthy and capable enough, which was placating. 

When the brief introductions were speedily droned, blue eyes glued themselves to the regulars, evaluating like she had just observed her fellow first years who would be her teammates for the day. Almost completely professionally, she noticed that these were stronger in both muscle and confidence. Defined muscles, calves in particular, for short bursts of abrupt speed as well as running around the court, and athletic arms and strong backs with all in all admirable contours. 

The boy with the dead, charcoal eyes and dark brown hair short and combed-with-fingers enough to not be considered ratty mop, but still long and dull enough to not even come close to well-kept, Furuhashi Koujirou, was the small forward. Then there was the brasher, livelier one with rusty tresses and pale algae eyes habitually narrowed, Yamazaki Hiroshi, who was the shooting guard. Seto Kentarou, the one with the thin, pale face and messiest hair with matching onyx eyes -who had been sleeping- occupied the spot of center, which suited his height and broad shoulders. The power forward was Hara Kazuya, the teen who was audibly chewing a gum and occasionally blowing a sphere that, about every three times of popping, would burst with enough force to whip remnants across his lower face; his longer, pale hair almost had an ashen tint in the wintry light, messily obscuring his eyes which Takase found a tad disconcerting. There were three who were regulars on the benches, of which one was center-player Matsumoto Itsuki. (It struck her that there were an awful lot of second-years, only two were in their last year and one was introduced as _regularly on the bench_ while the other one would only play the first two quarters.) 

Finally, there was Hanamiya Makoto, point guard, whose generous lips had tilted every so slightly into something almost smug or mischievous. Thick, raven hair skimmed past his jawline to almost brush against his shoulders like feathers, contrasting greatly against pale skin that almost had a sickly parlor in the off light. Though certainly tall, he also seemed to be a tad shorter than his beanstalk teammates, but that was a comment she spared for herself. Height hadn't been anything her former captain had liked talking about, either. 

Hanamiya threw the ball to the tallest of the benchwarmers, a black-haired upperclassman, who caught the ball with ease. "You'll be refereeing the match," the captain ordered, and the turned to the youngest batch of candidates with a grin vaguely reassuring. "Just a practice match to see what you've got. No need to be shy." 

She wanted to tell one of her new, still-nameless teammates to pass to her at some point, but the words got stuck somewhere along the way and instead she ended up situating herself on a strategic spot for observation. The ball was thrown up, her own heartbeat echoed inside her head, a shiver of anticipation as well as a tingle of nervousness racing down her spine, and then-

And then the basketball was caught by Matsumoto, who was taking the currently sleeping Seto's place, and the game started. There was a heartbeat; a hesitant, drumming life that grew louder inside until a breeze of relief breathed to life deep inside, a match in the dark, a spark of passion, until the wind picked up and with elation that there was color and positive emotion. 

It didn't take long, barely took time at all, before the second years (and single third year in Matsumoto's case) had taken control over the game with their superior physiques, teamwork, and experience. The ball would occasionally be stolen by her own team, hastily passed and dribbled along to score, although the success of the numerous attempts were unfortunately closer to rare than complete. Not only did it seem like the opponents were an oiled machine of cogwheels perfectly synched (contrary to Teiko which had been a mashup of talented individuals but without teamwork), but there were moments where a shoulder would brush too harshly against another's. 

The ball whizzed through the air, skillfully caught by a chestnut-haired boy, Higuchi Yuusuke, whom Takase had singled out as the one with greatest prowess and skill on the team. And then, just as he was about to jump up and most likely dunk the orange ball into the basket, Hara's foot slid _just so_ to press down onto Higuchi's with a stomp of finality, a physical block that tripped him up. 

Hanamiya's eyes were instantly drawn, sharp, though no whistle was blown and the game smoothly continued. Rubber soles squeaked, the polished floor shone, the basketball was dribbled. "We're testing for potential, Hara, limbs to yourself." 

And that was it. Barely a reprimand. 

Takase didn't have time to ponder more about it, or even come remotely close to action, before the ball is suddenly hurled towards her by a teammate whose eyes had miraculously glimpsed the ugly yellow of her vest that identified her as a first year for this match. Instinct took over, a hymn in her mind, and the basketball's rough surface slapped against the palm of her hand. There was a ripple through her arms, disappearing muscles that had been dormant for months being roughly awoken, but the pass went without a hitch and the ball was caught by a surprised teammate who had been free close to the net. There was a moment where both teams seemed befuddled by the veering of the ball, but a game remained a game and focus was still plastered onto said ball as it was easily thrown into the hoop. 

The bluenette exhaled slowly, and just as she started heading into the inside of the court, the hairs on the back of her neck tingled. The dull tanzanites of her eyes drifted to meet the captain's own specked pools, fastened like fishhooks on her. There was a gleam, something lurking in olive bronze depths, pale lips curling and revealing the barest amount of teeth. He _saw_ her, had noticed after only one pass, and it almost made her breath catch. Instead, she flatly stared right back, pausing momentarily to look at the taller boy across the pitch. The pools of his orbs were organized chaos, a wild dance hidden behind a veil of commonness, so bland and ordinary; despite there being noting to pinpoint, Takase had been a watcher long enough to feel the tingles racing up and down her spine. Distantly, she finally recalled Hanamiya being an Uncrowned King, yet nothing more came to mind. 

A heartbeat. 

A pause. 

A split-second. 

Takase turned her head with a swish of her misty blue ponytail, continuing walking. Her throat had almost itched, wanting to convey something, but there had been nothing to say. She didn't remember playing against him -she most likely had, at some point- but she felt more at ease now that she knew why even a third year would look at the captain with some degree of cautious approbation.

The game continued. With every slap of the palm of her pale hand against the speeding ball, with every pass and teammate scrambling to score with their eyes wide and startled, with every impulse inside, the blue eyed girl could feel the familiarity of playing basketball seeping back in, like a cat finding its favorite cushion to sleep on after it had been mysteriously missing for a while. 

In the end, the regulars did win, 32-24, although the margins were likely smaller than usually. Or at least, Takase liked thinking that she had made a difference. The short game had, at least, served as a reminder of how odd her place in teams tended to be. Specializing in passes rarely got attention if there was a powerhouse (or generally somebody good at scoring) to snag the limelight and attention. She hoped that she had left enough impression to be accepted despite being a girl. She also hoped that she hadn't been so noticeable as to weaken her misdirection; although, that was most likely not the case. It wasn't like she was complaining, she wasn't the type to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Sweat slicked her back and forehead, an unattractive sheen most likely, and she almost frowned with a twitch of her nose as she sat down and realized the valley between her breasts and the back of her neck where a few stubborn strands had escaped their ponytail and blanketed themselves was just as moist as her flushed face. The regulars were occupying the seats at the other end of the gym, huddled together and whispering like preteen girls exchanging secrets, while all the students trying out were loitering at the other end of the court, waiting for assessment in the form of acceptance into the first string or rejection in the form of kicked into he second (which was, by far, the most likely result for most). Higuchi Yuusuke was tensely listening to an other boy rambling about his holidays, while theater four had seated themselves three seats above Takase and shamelessly discussing which girls they thought were hot. The bluenette appreciated her lack of presence; at the moment, she enjoyed being left alone to let her thoughts meander around in her head like clouds in a summer sky. 

She wondered what Aomine would've thought about her choice of school. She then decided that she didn't give two shites in a bag about his opinion for this matter, and banned him and the gray cloud he brought with him from her mind. Obviously, that was when Kise popped up, just like he had swooped in at the perfect moment when Aomine had started growing distant a year ago, but he was kicked out too, followed by a condescending Akashi, apathetic Murasakibara and a huffing Midorima. She designated all of them under the term _stubborn fools_  for the moment. She mused that Momoi would've at least wished her good luck, followed by a ' _pleasepleaseplease call me Satsuki now, we're best of friends_ ' to which Takase would reply ' _not closer than the others_ ' after which the rosette would wail jokingly and wrap her arms around the bluenette in a suffocating bearhug that she would return after a deadpan moment. (Aomine would've shrugged and kept on walking, wouldn't he, he wouldn't have joked and teased like in the beginning. Then Kise would've bounded overt her and wrapped his arms around her with too much touching for it to be proper, pressed his nose against her neck and told her ' _come with me, Kurokocchi, come with me and you'll be happy_ ', to which Akashi would've leveled the blond with a flat glare and reminded him of the oath, and then Murasakibara would litter the ground with a trail of candy wrappers as he slouched past them, trailed after by an irately chiding Midorima who would be sliding up his glasses over his nose with an agitated narrowing of his emerald eyes. Only, that wasn't realistic because they wouldn't have been together in a group like that anymore, and it splashed her inside with something frigid and unpleasantly churning.) 

Takase was snapped from her reveries when Hanamiya stood up straight and headed towards the waiting first years, his teammates following suit. There was a barely noticeable pause as he stopped, a movement of his irises when his keen gaze skimmed over the anticipating faces, the air tangible and the power of speech in his, and only his, calloused hands. She was certain he was aware of it, too. And then, his deep voice was finally put to use once again; "You have all been accepted into Kirisaki Daiichi's basketball club, congratulations!" The corners of his lips twisted microscopically into something sharper, placing has hands on his hips in a pose that would've looked feminine on many others. "However, _unfortunately_ , only two of you have been accepted into the first of our two strings. I'd like to welcome Higuchi Yuusuke and Kuroko Takase onto the team." 

The other regulars hardly seemed impressed, though far from dubious; Hara was wearing his perpetual small smile as the bubblegum formed a perfect, minty sphere, Seto was shaken awake thanks to Yamazaki's rousing kick, Furuhashi looked like he was going through this day for the fifth time in a row and the three benchwarmers seemed to have accepted that there'd be even more competition. Takase stood up, a balloon swelling inside her chest and a tentative smile lighting up her pale face. Even when she had gotten home, locked herself up in her small yet cozy room, the smile wouldn't fade and the balloon wouldn't inflate. 

For a moment, all seemed well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much fo reading! Higuchi isn't an important character at all, don't worry, no important OCs in this fic. I just love Hanamiya's character, even if it's an awful one, and I'm not going to change his underhanded, deceitful ways because that would be like killing him. There were so many times that I wanted to add things during his sentences and descriptions, but it would be odd if he was completely himself when potential teammates could be scared away before they were trapped in his sticky clutches... oh well, take care!


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